


if at first

by Lux Remanet (orphan_account)



Series: Lightis Cinematic Universe [1]
Category: Fabula Nova Crystallis: Final Fantasy, Final Fantasy XIII Series, Final Fantasy XV
Genre: EdgeofTomorrow!AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 09:10:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1773643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Lux%20Remanet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe waking up wasn't so bad after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if at first

**Author's Note:**

> Edge of Tomorrow!AU

Dying was not the worst part.

In another, less fucked over universe this would have been a dance. He never did like dances; avoided them if he could—which always explained his capacity for tardiness. But yes, he morbidly liked to imagine this was a dance, because in the centre of the ballroom floor, centre stage as he dragged his oxfords in a quiet display of rebellion, would be... _her_. The woman who dared to wear red to a black tie affair.  The only one dancing; the only one truly at home, coolly indifferent to the fact she was here stag while the rest of them could only collect slackened jaws off the hardwood floor.  There was no way he could ever hope to emulate her; he was smart enough to realize that  but even so, learning her secret wouldn't hurt.

Learning.

Remembering.

Every _fucking_ day until the knowledge integrated itself into his reflexes.  Even an idiot would be able to follow these simple instructions.  Listen to the music. Follow the rhythm. _Timing_. Timing was everything. One, two cha-cha-cha.  Three, four cha-cha-cha.  _Don't_ look down. Focus on your partner, but be aware of your surroundings. _Lead_ , do not follow. Spin ‘em out, reel 'em back in...kill them.  Kill them all; kill them quick. Use what you got. If the music changes, improvise.  Improvise, improvise. The music _always_ changes. Beware the sudden _crescendo_ , the worrying _al niente_ , the deceptive _calmando_.

The fortieth cycle and Noctis'd have you calling him Billy Elliot. 

Billy Elli-never mind. 

But God, look at her go.  They called her the White Knight, and her armour was purposefully painted that blinding hue to draw the enemy to her.  Rookies could do shit-all in their first battle, but according to her stats she had massacred twenty in her first go.  Twenty.  It usually took teams of three to take down even one of these fuckers.  So it definitely wasn’t dumb luck.  She was the only thing standing between them and the cieth, people liked to say, and it was no exaggeration. She deserved that handle. Cieth dropped like flies every time her sword sliced through the air and cut through stony flesh and sinew. 

And him? Well he was working on earning one of his own.  Slow and steady, Noct,  slow and steady. White definitely wasn’t his colour though. 

Dying still sucked; just like the bullets hammering him into a human steak right now. _Chateaubriand, anyone?_ was the last thought going through his mind before he was pulled into oblivion.  Yeah.  Seemed his sense of humor was immune to improvement. 

_You're a good crowd. Thank you, I'll be here all week._

_Actually, I'll be here forever._

* * *

Fiftieth cycle: no more Mister Nice Guy.

He made it to the dance floor—shame about Prompto (could've been his wingman, but come on, was it really so hard to notice the B-52 about to crash-land on him)—and cut into the dance. She appreciated the change in partner but he died not a second after he made eye contact.

Still, wow.

Her eyes were baby blue, like the sky he stared up at while his dismembered limbs and insides were scattered around him in a horrific parody of that Operation game he used to find so fun as a kid.  Better blue than all this red.

**_-BZZT-_ **

* * *

Fifty-fifth cycle he learnt her name. 

Well, sort of. It was _Lightning_ , according to her dog tag, and it was all that had been left of her.  He'd made the mistake of distracting her in the heat of battle. 

_Aaaand repeat._

* * *

Cycle one hundred and sixty-four.

Survived the drop (sorry Prompto). From then he had two minutes before the second wave arrived, to get to the eastern front and pull her out of the way of the blades of an exploding chopper.  After that, ten seconds when he'd finished dragging her into the fuselage of a fallen bomber jet to explain _how_ he knew _what_ the fuck was happening _before_ it happened. Another ten seconds to demonstrate.  An extra three to see understanding and familiarity of the situation to dawn in her eyes right before she collared him, and shoved him against the wall. He could barely hear her above the carnage.

"133 Bhunivelze Drive!" She yelled. "Find me.  My sister’s name is Serah!"

Hey look, progress.

"Behind you!" 

Fuck.

* * *

Cycle one hundred and sixty-five.

Twenty-two hours before deployment:

"Have you guys seen my bike?"

Thanks Gladiolus.

* * *

She seems so much smaller without all the armour, but no less deadly, and ten times more agile...which is how he ends up on the training room floor with a knife at his throat. It is extremely bad judgement on his part that he feels more excited-probably even a little aroused- than afraid. Extremely bad.  But she is on top of him and what else is he meant to think about-- _dying_?

Please; been there, done _that_ and way too many times to count.

"How do you know that name?"

"You're going to tell me. On the battlefield. Tomorrow."

The death grip around his windpipe loosens.

It goes from there.

(Not as smoothly as he wanted, but he'll take what he can get.)

* * *

Lightning's mad scientist friend is holding a pen flashlight to his eyes and prodding Noctis’ temples, here and there.  He's humming a Yuna hit under his breath.

"What's the point of this?" Noctis demands, more than a little annoyed.  There's no time for this shit. Come tomorrow the entire world is going to be overcome by cieth. They're going to lose. What good could possibly come of an eye exam? 

"To see if you're lying," Lightning answers from the dark corner where she’s observing them.

 _That's what lie detectors are for_ , Noctis is tempted to say.

"Yep, definitely changes color." The scientist—Hope, his name is Hope—says.  "But it's at such an advanced stage, almost crimson."

"Crimson?" Lightning pushes off the wall and comes to stand beside him.

The flashlight changes hands. Hope is smirking now.  "See for yourself."

"My God..." Lightning mutters, and then she does something unexpected, something he’s never seen in all the cycles that he’s encountered her—she laughs.

"What's so funny?"

"You're officially employee of the month. Even when I had the power I didn't die nearly as much."

“Ditto,” says Hope. 

Is that a compliment or an insult?

"So what's your name?" Lightning is peering closely at him, as if trying to place him. "Who are you?  You look a little familiar."

I'll be whoever you want me to be. I'm the boss ass bitch. 

"Noctis Caelum.  Call me Noct."

She calls him Caelum.

It stings.

* * *

"The cieth are controlled by a single conscious organism called _Orphan_." Hope says a few minutes later while he draws on the whiteboard. It’s a mess of squiggly black and red lines, but Noctis pretends he can understand them because Lightning seems to.

"The one you killed,” Hope circles a section of his masterpiece, “one of the glowing ones was a _fal-cie_ , and you absorbed its power. Fal-cie act as scouts, relaying back information to Orphan, allowing it to co-ordinate its attacks after resetting time. I imagine you've seen them ignore everyone else on the battlefield and go straight for you, right?"

"You mean it’s not because of my good looks?"

Hope laughs.

And laughs.

And laughs.

"It's because you've stolen something," Lightning takes over because Hope still hasn't recovered. Her brisk tone erases the good mood altogether.  "And no matter what, they're going to rip it right out of you. Drain every last drop of your blood to get it back. There aren't many of them, but there's enough to give us hell which is why we need to kill Orphan before its fal-cie get to you.”

“So how do we find—” 

“Hope’s working on it.” She grabs him by the bicep and begins dragging him back to the training place.  “ Enough talk. Spar with me."

It doesn't matter how many cieth he's killed. She knocks him flat onto his back every, single time.

"How are you doing that?  How do you move like that? "

Her eyes are far away, lost in a memory for a brief moment before returning into focus.  "What do you remember when you killed that fal-cie?” she asks instead.  “Did you ever have a plan of attack?  Did you ever imagine that you'd be the one to steal its power?"

"Course not.  I was too busy trying to stay alive."

"Then you've got it.” There’s a smile on her face, but not a happy one.  “Survival,” she says. “It's our most basic instinct. It makes one...unpredictable. A lot more effective than trying to memorize. Don't just learn Noct; adapt."

Adapt, got it.

Her weight leaves him, but he doesn't get up.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t feel my legs.”

She doesn't even hesitate when she pulls the trigger and she doesn't even look sorry.  There’s no time to be.  No time to waddle around in one’s own malaise when the entire world is going to shit.  This is war; it’s nothing personal.

At least he tries to tell himself.

* * *

Time marches on.

Or does it? He doesn't really know anymore. In a secret lab on the outskirts of the city Hope has constructed a device which...really just looks like a giant needle.  It’s meant to mimic the fal-cie's relaying capabilities allowing them to trace Orphan’s whereabouts, but given they can’t get their hands on a living, breathing fal-cie, Noctis is their best choice.

He swallows nervously. Five hundred cycles or not, it's a pretty big fucking needle. Hope's expression is grim as he holds up a length of rubber to bite into. Noctis accepts it, resigned.  Attempt number forty-five, he thinks, just as Hope jams it into his thigh. 

His only consolation for dying: Hope has promised to make him a better exoskeleton in exchange.

* * *

The cieth swarm the moment he finds Orphan. Hope plants himself in front of the quickly closing steel door with a shotgun to buy Lightning and him time.

“Don’t fuck up!” he hollers, just as the cieth overwhelm him.

Noctis, ironically, does just that. 

On their way to the car he gets clipped by one of them—not so badly as to need a few days to recover but enough for him to need a blood transfusion.

Lightning’s expression is hesitant when he wakes up in the hospital bed a few hours later.  “Is it…” she trails off. 

The question hangs in the silence before he finally musters the nerve to answer.

“I lost it.  It’s gone.”

"Fuck."

After all that he’s been through, he can’t help but smile.  Because 'fuck' is probably the most versatile word in his vocabulary right now; if not the only one that matters.

“This isn't funny,” she snaps.

Noctis closes his eyes and sighs. 

Yeah, it’s…really _not_.

* * *

They round up a crew because this job is too big for just the two of them and the team consists of whoever’s still awake back at the base, not to mention insane.  Lightning makes the task of getting them to believe Noctis' story easier, but Noctis suspects it’s probably because half of them want to get into her pants when all is said and done. 

Still, she definitely needs a few pointers on the motivational circuit, because,

“This is a suicide mission,” is the first sentence she utters when they've all gathered around the map.

The faces fall like rain.

* * *

Prompto lightens the mood with some much needed humour while everyone gets ready and he’s in the middle of an anecdote involving a Spiran priest, a drunkard and a ronin when Noctis feels a tap on his shoulder.

Lightning nods to the door and he follows.  

A black exoskeleton is waiting for him in the hangar. It’s just like Lightning’s and not at all like the standard military issue one he’s learnt to adjust to after all this time.  It’s built for speed, and nothing else.  The logic behind it? Heavy armour is unnecessary when your opponent is dead before they know what kills them. 

“From Hope,” she says, by way of explanation.

Hope has just too much...well,  _hope._

Noctis smiles.  The little guy came through after all.  He is halfway to touching it for the first time when Lightning drags him back and collars him.

“ _Don’t_ fuck up, got it?” she says, eyes ablaze with purpose, except he can’t detect any of the venom he’s used to. She pulls him closer, getting into his face.  He shrinks back a little, at the close proximity because she looks on the verge of hitting him.  “Got it?” she hisses.

“Yeah, yeah I got it.  Don’t fuck—”

… _up?_

Her lips silence him, and wipe the off smirk that’s been plastered on his face since cycle fifty-one.  He’s breathless when she pulls back, and watches dumbly as she moves to her table and begins donning her armour. 

“Excuse me,” the smirk returns to his face with a vengeance as he recovers “what the hell was that?”

“A kiss, genius.” Her tone is nonchalant while she gives her sword a few experimental slashes.  

“Unbelievable,” Noctis can’t help but say while he fits himself against his exoskeleton. They've got their backs to each other but he's willing to bet she's smirking.

“What is?”

He turns to face her.  “They say hindsight is 20/20 but five hundred plus cycles and I swear I never would have seen that one coming.  Guess I really don’t know you at all.”

“Guess you don’t.” She smiles slightly, and it’s actually more of a hint _of_ a smile, but it still feels as if the entire room has gotten brighter. 

“I thought you didn’t like me.”

“I _don’t_.  You complain too much and you have a weird sense of humour.  But you’re _determined_ , which I admire,” she adds before he has a chance to get in a word edgewise.

“So you were gonna wait, until the _last possible minute_ , until our _guaranteed impending doom_ to do that?”

“Why not?” She’s still busy slashing at invisible enemies, rolls and then finally thrusts, straight and deadly and true.

Lightning: ever the straight shooter.

He doesn’t have anything further to say after that.

* * *

Operation: Orphanfall goes as well as any well-adjusted (read: not actually well-adjusted) resetter like Noctis would expect: extremely horribly.

The team goes down, one by one like petals being plucked from a flower and eventually it’s him and her with death close at their heels.  Finally they’re staring at Orphan, and it’s the worse possible time, but Noctis humorously realizes how much more sense Hope’s doodles on the whiteboard made.  He tosses the charges into the glowing blue chasm and pulls out the detonator.  At the last moment he turns to her.  The fal-cie creep ever closer. 

“What?” 

“It never occurred to you to buy me dinner first?” he asks, grinning.  Yes, they are going to have this conversation _now_.

She rolls her eyes.  “I don’t like going out to dinner.”

“Then what _do_ you like?”

She’s quiet for a minute.  And then,

“Pizza, I suppose.”

Despite their imminent demise he files this information away anyway.

Hey, it could be important.

* * *

He tries to hold onto her, but the blast pries and then finally rips them apart.  There’s something wet and sticky, coating his arms, and soon his entire body but he doesn’t open his eyes.  He’s seen enough blood to flood a hundred million lifetimes.  He waits for oblivion to take him like it always does, and it pulls him into the abyss without fail.

Like clockwork.

* * *

Hope’s voice is awkward behind her.  “Hey Lightning,”

Lightning reaches push up number one ninety-nine and crumbles to the floor, more exasperated than exhausted.  

“What?”

“There’s a Major here to see you.”

She pushes herself off the floor and aggressively begins pulling off her gloves.  “Major  _who_ , Hope, how many times do I have to tell you:  _be specific_.  What’s he want?”

“I thought we could talk about it over pizza,” a voice says. 

Slowly she turns. Her voice shakes a little.  

“Noct?”

* * *

Noctis smirks as her naked form presses closer to him beneath the sheets, fast asleep. He reaches out and brushes her hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear, before stealing a kiss.

Maybe waking up wasn't so bad after all.

* * *

 

**_-fin-_ **

**Author's Note:**

> And they lived happily ever after.  
> Repeatedly.


End file.
